


A Home

by spinaltapdancer3



Category: Pokemon Mystery Dungeon
Genre: One Shot, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:48:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinaltapdancer3/pseuds/spinaltapdancer3
Summary: In the beginning there was a patch of dirt. Nothing special, just some soil located by a road, surrounded by trees.
Kudos: 2





	A Home

In the beginning there was a patch of dirt. Nothing special, just some soil located by a road, surrounded by trees. No one paid it any mind. No one had gave it a second glance. That is how it had been since the beginning. That is how it would end.  
\---  
One day the patch of dirt was disturbed. Construction materials scattered about, holes had been dug into it. The sound of hammering and sawing filled the air. Wooden post had been erected. Pieces of plywood placed in between them. Shingles were placed above them in a circular fashion. Large holes had been cut into the thick planks. A mailbox was erected out front.  
Then just as fast as it had started. The noises stopped. The construction materials disappeared. The wind blew by. Unheard by anyone.  
But something had changed. Second glances were given. The patch of dirt had become something more. More than just the dirt and wood that occupied the space. It could be felt when passed by. Sometimes the feelings were strong, sometimes nothing more than a fleeting thought.   
It was called potential.  
\---  
The days went by. Dust began to accumulate. The planks began to be a little worn. The mailbox remained empty. One of the shingles had fallen off. Adding another window into the enclosed space that occupied the middle of the patch of dirt.  
But the feeling was still there. Always there. Always present.   
Until it wasn’t.  
Dust was cleaned. The planks washed. The mailbox began to fill. Occasionally strands of pink fur could be seen. Sometimes even a hairball. Every morning the sounds of footsteps could be heard leaving. Every night the sound of footsteps could be heard coming back.   
New things began to appear. Jars, filled with useful material nestled inside the enclosed space. Flowers began to appear giving color to the subdued area. A pile of straw.  
A new word was occasionally uttered.  
“Home.”  
\---  
There came a time when the hairballs disappeared. When the strands of pink fur could no longer be found. In their place scratches could be found, formed by bone. The fur replaced by tiny scales. The mailbox was full more often than not.   
Now, instead of one set of footsteps coming and leaving every day, two could be heard.  
The sound of flapping in the morning became a staple.  
The sound of desperation. The sound of pleading. The sound of celebration.   
What once was called Home was no longer referred to as such. It was too busy. Too active. In the Jubilance a new word was heard.   
“Base.”  
A home for many. An icon of hope.  
\---  
Fear.  
Confusion.  
Anger.  
Doubt.  
The trees that lined the road bore witness to an exchange.  
A temporary reprieve.  
A dark promise.  
The sound of footsteps could be heard. The shuffling of hay.  
The night passed. Silent, still, but with an unmistakable tension in the air.  
The crack of dawn provided a muted light that diffused the area.  
The sound of footsteps coming.  
The sound of two leaving.  
Silence fell.  
A home no longer.  
\---  
A ray of light hit the center of the room. Let in by a fallen shingle knocked loose by an earthquake. A few jars had been knocked over, their content spilling over the floor. The dust had settled, giving a grimy appearance.  
Two shadows stretched across the room.  
A home once more.  
\---  
The construction materials returned. The sound of sawing and hammering that hadn’t been heard since the early days. A new sound entered as well. The sound of chiseling. What had once been wood was turned to stone. The grass that had surrounded the house had been stripped. Returning the area to the dirt it had once been. The shingled roof had been replaced with a singular white dome, stylized into a skull.  
A small garden appeared as well. With tiny seedlings sprouting forth, soon to be a variety of vegetables, fruits, and flowers. Spiky shells littered the area. Smashed open for the treats they had been protecting.   
A flitter of wistful memories for what had once stood there.  
Excitement at the possibilities.  
The pride of a hard day’s work, and a finished project.  
A home. Old and new at the same time.  
\---  
The earthquakes had stopped. The seedlings out front had grown and withered and regrown multiple times. The seasons came and went as they always had. One day sun, another day colored leaves, another snow, and finally new shoots, bringing forth life into the world.  
The house grew worn. Year by year it was renewed just a little less. The pink hair strands that could be occasionally found on the floor turned grey. The bone markings that etched the stone walls became a little weaker, a little more reflective in nature.  
One day a footsteps could be heard. A singular shadow crossed the entrance. Sobbing could be heard.  
A home. A home for one, and the memory of another.  
\---  
The overgrowth had split open the rocks. Centuries had passed and the road that once passed by had been cover with grass. The forest that had once merely surrounded the place had encroached and taken over the place. The house still remained, barely recognizable under the heaps of ivy. Soon it would be consumed by the forest, just another pile of rock and flora, no different from the forest around it.  
A flitter. A shadow. A soft landing. Hidden inside the dome, barely still held up by the stone walls below it.  
No longer a home. But maybe a hiding place, a temporary refuge.  
\---  
The fire that had ravaged the forest had been all consuming. Nothing living survived. The trees burnt to ashes and scattered by the winds. The rocks reduced to pebbles by the erosion of the wind and rain. All that remained was a patch of dirt. Just as it had been in the beginning, so too, did it end.


End file.
